Danny, Spike

Danny, my friend from work who died, had done a piece of art, a gray minimalist sort of skull done in stucco or concrete, on a black background with some red details, all done on cardboard. I had been working on getting the piece, buying it or whatever but Danny died. He came into the Gallery HorseCow where the piece was being kept and told me not to worry that he would give it to me in his will. He would be at his will reading, to make sure it went right.

The dream jumps a bit and I'm walking on a sunny late morning to a hotel room. The concierge tells me that someone has been asking for me every few minutes, and that it's getting to be a bit much. I go to the room. Brett is inside sleeping. I'd slept somewhere else. There are a couple of girls in the room, including a beautiful naked girl sleeping on the floor. She becomes a fully dressed very business like black girl who gets immediately on my case. Where've I been, why am I not promoting, etc. Apparently I was back in the employ of Spike and Mike and she was some kind of new crew leader. I tell her that starting early isn't really the strategy with Spike and Mike. I'll start at 12 and I'll probably work until 10 at night or later. She calms down and asks if I'm the same Keith who worked for Spike before. I tell her I am, and that Spike and I are old friends.
I go out promoting. It feels like I'm in SF. It's sunny and wonderful out. I have flyers for the original festival, and then I have small flyers printed on a sort of wax paper with the Sick and Twisted graphics and Spike's home number and address with very little detail beyond that. I had to be selective with this flyer, or at least create the feeling amongst the party boys I gave it to that I was being selective so they'd think I was only inviting people who were totally cool, you know, like them.